


Behind the Veil

by erised_selddir (orphan_account)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Dreams vs. Reality, M/M, Nightmares, Sadism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-11-10 00:52:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11116476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/erised_selddir
Summary: "Nothing will save you from walking down a murderer's path." Battling with his inner demons, including one Tom Marvolo Riddle, was a struggle - especially when he had no one to rely on. The boundaries between a murderer and a savior were becoming hard to distinguish between when he was turning into the very same person he swore not to become. Set during the events of HBP.Potential Harrymort - though not set in stone.(HIATUS)





	1. Prologue

“It hurts, doesn't it?”

The soft tapping of shoes against the ground blurred together with his heart pounding in his ears, and he shivered involuntarily, curling into himself. All he could do was keep his face pressed against the chilled stone tiles in the hope that the bile threatening to rise never spilled past his lips like the blood had.

He hoped his stomach stopped lurching with every spell cast – every move made sent his heart into a frenzy, echoing in his head like the screams did in the recesses of his mind. He wished that the paranoia wasn't lurking at his back. He prayed that his small flinches wouldn’t be noticed every single time something reminded him of his  _ savior _ . But they were. They didn’t stop just because he wanted them to, and after all this time he knew his terror could be seen by the one who plagued his nightmares no matter how successfully he hid it.

“You can tell me, you know... I won't get angry.”

_ Lies. _

“You’re not going to speak? Such a _ pity _ .” They tsked. “Though I suppose you finally learning when to keep your mouth shut is an improvement.”

He stared unseeingly ahead, the soft voice made entirely of silk weaving in and out of his ears. In his school years, he had learned to hear, but not really listen – and it had come in handy during the mindless babble of his classmates. But now... now the words were too loud, too clear, and he had no choice but to listen. 

Lessons had been taught.

Lessons had been learned.

Each time he had been forced to remember. Each time it seemed like there was something he forgot to do, some aforementioned rule he had broken even though he remembered next to nothing about the terms that were in place.

Then again, what did he actually remember?

What felt like hours to him could be mere minutes in reality, but he had already spent so much time staring at the wall on the opposite side of the room.

He had stopped trying to lunge at his captor and get any sort of advantage in this situation – as when he had tried in the past, he had been put down like a rabid dog. The optimism he once had in the beginning, the thought that maybe, just  _ maybe _ he would be saved... all of it had been crushed.

With opposition came impulsiveness, and when he no longer lashed out against his captor, he didn’t get hurt as much as he did when he fought back. He learned to be motionless, expressionless, and learned how to think for himself.

But with that came the realization that despite everything he had done for the Wizarding World and despite how he would do anything to save them – the people in it wouldn’t even lift a finger to help him. And despite how everything had shattered and his grip on everything had loosened, something had stayed.

Hope – and with that, the will to survive. 

He would survive because no one else believed in him – they thought he had turned for the worst; they had expected the worst out of him. But he would live, even if they believed he had changed sides – even if they had no more faith in him.

He would live because life itself was the only thing he could hold on to at this moment. 

“But it’s too bad...” A boot pressed against his face, nudging it to the side, and he fought to keep his calm as he caught a glimpse of dark hair. Their face loomed closer to his own, and the smirk made him wish he could crawl back. “I expect you to speak when I ask you a question.”

But he had been broken over and over again to the point where his voice was a raspy croak, and his throat protested even if he just made a sound.

“Another rule... You don’t like obeying me, do you?” A tongue clucked and a hand reached for his jaw, gentle in grip. The tremors had died down, but it was no surprise that they started back up just at the simple touch. “What can I expect, though? You never listened to anything I said in the first place.”

“Never heeded any of my advice… I told you, didn’t I? That child – Ginny, was it? – she would be nothing but trouble.” Remembering her, remembering her words hurt far more than any kind of physical pain. “And look at what happened. Look at what she did.”

He wanted to hunch even farther away when the grip on his chin tightened, but he knew the action wouldn’t be allowed. Nothing was, other than absolute obedience, and even then he could only hope that they would get bored of him soon – hoped that he would be tossed away like a used ragdoll, unimportant, so he could patch himself back together.

“She hurt you.” The mocking tone was gone, replaced with a softer one and a far more serious expression. “She hurt you, and you  _ let _ her.”

He couldn’t speak, he  _ wouldn’t _ . Wouldn’t justify the fact that she was just a child, wouldn’t snap back and say the same thing was being done to him right now. He had been put in his place so many times to know when speaking was a bad time and when certain comments would not be tolerated under any circumstance. 

But he still couldn’t prevent the spark of anger that rushed through him at that second.

“Are you upset? I’m not the one who hurt you. There’s a difference between her and I – I’m preparing you for the  _ real _ world, for those moments where you’ll be hurt over and over again by those you love.” The warm smile terrified him far more than the cold, closed off look. “If I didn’t care about you at least a little, why would I take the time to do this?”

_ ‘Because you’re sick.’ _ He thought, and gained a little satisfaction from the way those eyes  darkened.  _ ‘Because you’re getting satisfaction from keeping me here and breaking me  _ – _ ’ _

“It’s  _ your _ mindscape. You want to leave? Come on, push me out.” The hand moved away, and he only had one minute to feel relief before the crushing force came back in the form of their boot. Black spots danced across his vision for a moment at the harsh kick, but he made no move to nurse his aching jaw. “You’re the Boy-Who-Lived, our  _ strong and mighty savior _ …”

“But  _ I _ saved you. Fascinating, isn’t it? I saved you from them, and I’m continuing to do so. You call  _ me _ sick, but look at what you’ve done.” He tried to stop from recoiling when his fringe was pushed back, green meeting red. “You killed someone.”

“And don’t you say that it was all me, Harry. I merely act according on your feelings. And you, you had a lot of hate in you to not object to what was being done.”

“I influenced you just a tiny bit, just to see what you would do.” The wicked smile made him want to squeeze his eyes shut, but his words would still haunt him, taunt him, like this was all a game – but why shouldn’t it be? “But you took it to another level. You reveled in your anger, your hatred – you  _ killed _ him… and you  _ enjoyed _ it.”

He hunched away, missing the victorious expression that flashed across pale features. “Perfect little Cedric… You must have gotten tired from all the comparing, am I right?”

He didn’t want to hear this, he wanted the memories to  _ stop  _ –

“You were secretly glad when that curse hit him during the Triwizard Tournament, such a shame it didn’t get rid of him permanently – don’t shake your head, child, I  _ know _ you.”

He wasn’t happy about it, he hadn’t been back then and he wasn’t now and – “What good will it do to lie to yourself when I will force you to see and accept the darker part of who you are? I’ve been with you since you were a child… I know the way your mind works, I know  _ every emotion you feel. _ We are different, yet one and the same,  _ Harry _ .”

Stop it. 

_ Stopitstopitstopitstopit  _ –

It was becoming harder and harder to breathe and his fingers clawed at the stone tiles as he sought to escape from the unrelenting pressure of –

_anger, jealousy, the small twinge of guilt, overwhelming feel of_ power – 

_ watching Cedric crumble to the ground, a gaping hole in his chest where his beating heart should have been. his hands weren’t stained with blood, but they might as well have been at the sick fascination he had gotten from watching him explode from the inside out  _ –

“Your first kill… Have I told you how proud I am of you, yet?”

He could only see gleaming red eyes in the darkness of his own mind. 

_ Stopstopstopstopstop  _ –

“You don’t have to worry, the pain will go away eventually, as will the guilt, the remorse. Of course the joy will still linger – that would be no fun if it disappeared, too. I don’t want you to turn into a mindless killing machine, Harry. I want you to  _ enjoy yourself. _ .”

_ I don’t want to be like you, I’m  _ not _ you, I won’t become you  _ –

“I will make you beautiful.”

Harry woke to the sound of his own screams.


	2. 01

He awoke and everything was different.

He awoke and the images that plagued his mind during the continuous nightmares ceased to exist and Tom Riddle with his lies and deceit disappeared.

He awoke and lived to his friends’ faces and their smiles. To Ginny, whose sweet smile never once faltered – 

_ Look at what she did. _

_ Look at what she did to you. _

_ Betrayal, anger, hatehatehate – _

And Hermione and Ron, whose love and loyalty never wavered – 

_ They’ll leave you, too. They all will. _

_Give them time, let them know about your nightmares_ _that show your past, your present, your_ future _. Let them find out about the voice in your head_. _You aren’t sane, Harry Potter – you haven’t been since the Triwizard Tournament._

But the nightmare wasn’t real, it only existed in his head – the  _ memories _ shown, they were false – they had to be. 

Cedric was still walking amongst the living, Ginny still greeted him every morning without fail, and the rest of the Golden Trio were still their same selves.

But his hands still shook, throat still ached, limbs still  _ trembled _ with the dull pain of curses and torture that he could not have gotten behind the walls of Hogwarts – 

Any movement towards him, any wand flick – they all made him flinch. The image of Tom Marvolo Riddle with his yew wand raised and eyes as dark as the blood that had pooled around his body was burned into his mind. Irreplaceable. Inerasable.

If he could get away with _ Obliviating  _ himself successfully, then he would do it – just to rid himself of the mental scars that got left behind with the nightmare that seemed to last for an eternity. 

But the physical pain still lingered.

Even though there were some times he would wake up to an empty room and no recollection of the nightmare he just had, this one…

This one was the worst. 

Because he  _ remembered  _ it, he  _ knew _ the nightmare was the reason why he was in pain. The shadows of the nightmare licked at the corners of his mind and haunted him – 

_ I will make you beautiful.  _

Going to Madam Pomfrey would raise questions and Dumbledore – he didn’t want to bother him right now.

The voice, which had sounded eerily like Tom Riddle… it was just a nuisance anyway.

Dumbledore had far too much on his mind, how could he not? He was the headmaster of a  _ school _ , he had to deal with Voldemort year after year and the possibilities of what could happen this time.

_ “You just don’t want to admit that your nightmares could hold a certain truth to them.” _

He had already gone to Dumbledore’s office earlier this year with his mouth ready to fire off about Draco Malfoy being suspicious and how he was going to do something  – 

But he been at the foot of the stairs right as the gargoyle jumped aside – heading somewhere with an urgency that startled Harry – and though he had no right to know exactly where he was going, he still found himself curious then.

Dumbledore had pushed Harry’s concerns aside with a hasty apology before he had even got the chance to voice them.

_ “He doesn’t have time for you, don’t you see? He has more important things to do than to listen to the rambling of a student who is as reckless as much as he is dangerous.” _

He knew that was true – Dumbledore having better things to do, that is. 

But what he had to say was important,  _ this _ was important.

_ “Like telling him about your vision of the Department of Mysteries and how you needed to save Black was important. You acting before thinking and your inability to know what was real and what was not is the whole reason your godfather is dead.” _

A pang went through him at the reminder of what he had done, of his mistakes, of everything that had gone wrong in a single night. If he had known it would have resulted in such calamity, if he had  _ known  _ it was a mere vision instead of a memory – 

_ “Hypotheticals do nothing. Learn from your mistakes, do not repeat them – isn’t that the advice usually given? But go ahead, tell Dumbledore of how you find Draco Malfoy suspicious – better yet, tell him about the voice in your head after you speak of suspicion. See how well that works for you.” _

“Harry?” He jolted at the tentative touch to his shoulder, knowing Hermione snatched her hand back at that same moment even though he had not taken his eyes off the book in his lap. “Are you… are you alright?”

_ “See if anyone believes in your words and what you have the capability to do after discovering  _ me.  _ Do you think your little muggleborn friend will look at you the same? _ ”

He glanced up.

“It’s – it’s just… you’ve been out of it all day.” Hermione was fiddling with her hair, tugging at the ends of it the same way she tugged at her lower lip with her teeth. “We’ve been worri – ”

At that same moment, a triumphant shout echoed through the common room and he looked over to the source – 

Of course it was Ron.

He didn’t look particularly worried as he crushed Dean to pieces in chess – in fact, he looked positively elated that he had the upper hand. A sigh pulled him back to Hermione, who sat down next to him, not noticing the way he stiffened.

“Okay,  _ I _ was worried about you – I’m sorry Harry, Ron is being as insufferable as ever, but I know he cares about you!” There was a pause in which she glared across the room. “He just doesn’t show it the way I do.”

And wasn’t that obvious?

If he even spoke to them, he talked more than listened and noticed next to nothing that was wrong with the two of them. Not to mention, he was more concerned about his relationship with  _ Lavender  _ instead of how he was becoming distant with his  _ first _ friends, which showed that he really couldn’t be bothered with the two of them.

Hermione was upset over it – noticeably so with the way she ranted and fumed whenever she had the chance – but Ron was either oblivious to their feelings or simply ignoring them.

While a part of him knew he should be worried about how the Golden Trio was quickly becoming the Golden  _ Duo _ , Harry found that he couldn’t care less. 

Ron would be Ron – he wouldn’t change even if they had confronted him about the issue.

Or, according to Hermione, “boys will be boys.”

Apparently Harry was the only exception to that, as she stuck around him more often than not and seemed to enjoy his company far more than she did Ron’s.

“Harry?”

The soft call of his name jolted him out of his thoughts, warm brown eyes searching green. Was she looking for the problem, as if she could find it by simply staring at him? If she could read minds, then that would be far more efficient for her, but...

He wasn’t sure exactly what to tell her – he knew she wanted him to confide in her, but he didn’t think that was the best course of action. He wanted to tell her, he really did, but the voice was probably right. She wouldn’t look at him the same, she would be afraid of him, of the things he could potentially  _ do _ – 

Still, he appreciated her company more than he let on.

“...Thank you, Hermione.”

_ For still being here. _

_ For being one of the reasons I’m still trying. _

_ For staying by my side even though I don’t tell you what’s going on. _

_ For being  _ you _. _

“Just… thank you.”

He couldn’t say much, not without feeling embarrassed and like a sap. But thanking her – he should have done that a long time ago. 

But Hermione seemed to understand the words he was trying to convey without speaking more than three words, if her radiant smile was any indication. She understood  _ him _ , and for that he was grateful.

She held her hands out, letting him see them for a brief moment before placing them on top of his own.

“I’m here for you, Harry. No matter what, okay?” Despite the noise around them and the way that anyone could look at them and take this situation out of context, she didn’t seem to care. “I’m here and I will  _ always _ be.”

_ “But will she be?”  _ The voice appeared as suddenly as it had disappeared, the words razor sharp as it pointed out the possibilities Harry didn’t want to think about.  _ “Will she be here once she knows of me and how you will murder one of your classmates?” _

He chose to ignore it, focusing solely on Hermione’s sincerity.

“...I know.” He murmured and squeezed her hand gently, his heart warming at the watery smile she gave him.

_ “But do you?” _

“I know.”

* * *

 

It was weird, thinking of what could have happened if Krum hadn’t been taken over by the  _ Imperio  _ curse, if he hadn’t attacked Cedric and nearly killed him. Harry might not have taken the cup, he might not have been used in Voldemort’s resurrection – if Krum had not intervened, the chance that Cedric would have taken the cup and gotten killed by Voldemort was high.

Or perhaps they both would have been racing to see who could get the cup first, and in their haste, both of them would have grabbed it. What would have happened then? 

Perhaps some events would still be the same, perhaps Harry would still be alive and walking around with a closer connection to his parents’ murderer. 

Perhaps Cedric would have been killed, body left in the cold graveyard, face warped in horror – 

But there was no point in dwelling on what  _ could _ have happened. There were so many  _ what if’s,  _ so many ways the situation could have played out, and thinking about it did nothing but waste time. Despite being tortured by Krum, Cedric was still alive – thankfully – coming out of the tournament with no major injuries.

Unlike him.

He came out of the tournament – and the graveyard – with both physical and mental injuries.

He came out of the tournament more scarred than he had been during his first three years; he had seen death closer than ever before. 

He came out of the tournament terrified. Of Voldemort, of what he could do with a restored body and full control over his magic.

He came out of the tournament with a new mindset, a new idea of how he was going to not only survive the war, but  _ win _ it.

And the voice in his head encouraged his thoughts, encouraged the new plan that he was dead set on carrying out. It told him what ideas were foolish. It told him what he needed to do, the things he needed to accomplish to get himself on track, and the things he needed to focus on. 

It was  _ friendly _ , far unlike this year with the change that was noticeable during the beginning of the term – 

This year it had become colder.

Gone were the polite suggestions and subtle nudges in certain directions. Gone was the gentle guiding he had become accustomed to. 

It gained a face, it gained the name  _ Tom Marvolo Riddle _ and a personality he would only associate with the man. 

Perhaps his subconscious was merely putting a name to the evil that could only be classified as Tom Riddle, perhaps it was matching the face in his nightmare with the name that belonged to it.  Perhaps it registered him as Riddle because of the way his actions were not unlike him. The way the voice spoke certainly reminded him of the Riddle he had confronted in the diary. 

Perhaps he should not have so readily trusted either of them – Riddle in second year and the voice in fourth year. 

_ “Why can’t you trust me? I’ve been nothing but honest in my intentions.” _

Merlin, he couldn’t even have the privacy and comfort of his own thoughts –

_ “In fourth year, all I did was tell you what you wanted to hear. You desired to be better, to be able to defeat Voldemort, so I told you what no one else did.” _

...He had a point. 

_ “Don’t I always?” _

Everyone – minus Hermione and a few others – had been so willing to throw him out into the world and let him get eaten by the creatures that lurked within. 

The adults hadn’t thought to check if there was any other way around the tournament’s rules, hadn’t thought to support him or secretly help him – though that may have been a selfish wish at the time. 

Everyone thought he had done it for the fame and had even sneered at Hermione when she refused to believe he entered his name. 

Dumbledore didn’t help him, didn’t give him any special training no matter how hard he wished for it – the special treatment he got already earned him scornful looks. 

Ron may have apologized for being such a  _ prat  _ after the tournament, but things continued to be the same afterwards. There were no offers to help, no offers to prepare him for the war. 

And it was then that he realized that he had to do it himself because no one else would. 

He had to take his own life and survival into his hands because only  _ he _ could ensure that he made it out of the war alive.

And the voice – it reminded Harry so much of Riddle, so he would think of it as such –  encouraged that. 

He encouraged Harry to be a better student, to pay attention in all of his classes – no, that did  _ not  _ include History of Magic – and he encouraged him to read up on different subjects that would enhance his learning experience. 

Nothing sketchy, as fourth-year Harry wouldn’t have touched the book under any circumstances, but they weren’t entirely harmless either. He needed to learn how to keep his own against a group of Death Eaters more than twice his age, so he couldn’t be all too picky. 

He showed him the Room of Requirement on the seventh floor, something that absolutely fascinated Harry with its endless possibilities. He supposed it was a good thing that the Room of Requirement couldn’t conjure food, otherwise he would be staying there overnight. 

But even without the food, he got a lot out of his time there. Riddle taught him how to  _ defend _ – nothing like the previous DADA classes which had mostly been a complete joke. He taught him spells, sent him images of the wand movements in his mind, and Harry got to see what they did firsthand by practicing on various things in the Room. 

With his support, he did extremely well in his classes – Potions was still a nightmare, though he supposed it was because Snape was his teacher. He had made an effort to not react to his taunts and insults – they would only give Snape an excuse to take away house points and make Harry serve detention.

Umbridge was a completely different story in fifth year, as he had screwed up all the progress he had made by opening his mouth about Voldemort and getting detention for most of the year. 

And then came the vision, and… Harry didn’t want to think about Sirius. 

The prophecy weighed on his shoulders even now, the words lingering in the corners of his mind.

_ The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches… _

He had no choice but to fight Voldemort – it was either fight or die, and Harry wasn’t too keen on either of those options. But his friends would be in the war, their parents, as well as the rest of their families.

It wasn’t even an option to be a coward and run away with the several lives that were at stake, several lives that could be killed by Voldemort’s wand if he didn’t take action – 

_ “You are a child – ” _

“I’m  _ sixteen  _ – ”

The common room quieted. Heads turned at his sudden outburst and he flushed at their questioning gaze, quickly grabbing his things and heading to his dorm room.

_ “Think about the logical side of this – there is absolutely no way a sixteen year-old can take down the Dark Lord. If Dumbledore can’t do it, then what makes you think you can?” _

“You make it seem like I have a choice.” The empty room was a comfort. He didn’t have to explain why he appeared to be insane with his one-sided conversations. “I’m not going to be able to win, I  _ know _ that. But what other choice do I have? I can’t let those people  _ die  _ – ”

_ “Everyone else is content with letting  _ you _ die.” _

The words hit him like a slap in the face.

_“The adults who are supposed to protect_ _you sit back year after year while you get into danger.”_

He remained silent, picking at the lint on his bed sheets. 

_ “The witches and wizards in Diagon Alley, those in the Ministry of Magic and Dumbledore’s little  _ group _ , your professors… Together, they make up hundreds of people. Together, they could turn against the Death Eaters and win with proper training and strategy. But getting rid of him isn’t their desire – no, they would rather cower in fear and let a  _ child _ do the work.” _

He never thought about it that way, never thought that anyone else would be willing to fight against Voldemort and his followers. 

_ “Many of those people have not looked Voldemort in the eye, let alone have they uttered his name. And yet you, a child with barely any magical training, speak his name as if you are on equal footing with him.” _

Riddle didn’t give him a chance to speak. He was acting like he was lecturing a small child who didn’t understand right from wrong, who didn’t understand the ways of the world –

Riddle was  _ looking down on him _ . 

_ “And that is what you are, Harry Potter, a child, so don’t fool yourself into believing otherwise. You may know more than your peers – you may know death and torture – but that does not mean you stand with the adults.” _

Harry felt some sort of need to defend himself, to not let Riddle have the upper hand like he did in his nightmare.

Riddle humiliated him. 

He taunted him,  _ toyed _ with him, smiling all the while. 

He said the most insulting things and acted like he knew more about Harry than Harry himself. 

There were too many times where he stayed silent when he could have spoken up instead of letting himself get trampled on. Broken. Beaten.

Harry was left battered and bruised in both the nightmare and the real world because he had been too  _ afraid _ to speak back.

It was fresh in his mind, a wound that couldn’t heal because he constantly remembered Riddle’s actions and his own inaction.

“How about you take your words and  _ sod off _ ?”

But Riddle was nothing more than a voice right now.

He was nothing more than something in his head, nothing more than a being that would have control only if Harry let him. It was different in his nightmare, but in the  _ real  _ world, Harry had the upper hand. He  _ felt _ like he had control; he  _ felt _ like he could defend himself without suffering from any immediate consequences.

There was nothing to be afraid of in the real world.

He may have been paralyzed with fear before, but nothing could hurt him here.

“I might as well be an adult. Maybe not physically, but definitely mentally. The Triwizard Tournament saw to that, Voldemort saw to that,  _ Dumbledore _ saw to that. No  _ child _ should be thinking about survival tactics and killing a  _ Dark Lord _ .”

His irritation grew the more he spoke on, the growing ball of lint in his hands being the only indicator. 

“You know that there are people who are too wise for their age, who know too much of the horrors today to be called a simple  _ child. _ I’ve  _ seen _ death _ ,  _ I’ve  _ seen  _ torture – I know my friends might die because of who I am. I’ve seen my professors turn their backs on me, I’ve seen them raise their wands  _ at  _ me. If being an adult means to be like the ones who have barely done anything for me and if being a child is to be inferior to those adults, then what am  _ I _ ?”

Riddle was quiet. 

“I’m not the person you talked to after the tournament, I am not the person you had wrapped around your finger with your disgustingly sweet words and  _ sympathetic _ nature.”

_ “I – ” _

“ _ No _ .” He said stubbornly, hands pausing as he glared down at the sheets. “You’ve made your opinion well known to me _. Listen _ for once.”

There was a sharp twinge in his forehead. 

He ignored it.

His heart was pounding and he knew he probably shouldn’t talk back because of how easily he could be punished for it later, but for once he wanted to feel like he hadn’t simply  _ let _ Riddle win.

“I am not Voldemort’s equal, I am not as powerful as him yet, but I  _ will be _ .”

He paused, voice becoming considerably quieter but no less fierce.

“And you have no say in that or who I’ll become. I’m not  _ you _ , I’m definitely not  _ Voldemort.  _ And I won’t be either of you. I am my  _ own _ person. I will fight on my own terms and I will  _ win _ .”


End file.
